


just a taste

by KAZ1167



Category: Free!
Genre: Because Rei is the most obvious person in the entire world, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Drabble Collection, First Kiss, Flirting, Loving stares, M/M, Maybe even more than Makoto and that's saying something, Mentally undressing Makoto is fun, Post Free! ES, References to Sex, Sousuke tickles Rin, Which leads to kissing fun times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KAZ1167/pseuds/KAZ1167
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basorexia: an overwhelming desire to kiss. (MakoHaru)<br/>Sphallolalia: flirtatious talk that leads no where. (SouRin)<br/>Apodyopis: the act of mentally undressing someone. (MakoHaru)<br/>Mamihlapinatapei: the look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move. (ReiGisa)<br/>Gargalesthesia - The sensation caused by tickling. (SouRin)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Basorexia (MakoHaru)

Haru’s supposed to be focused on unpacking his kitchen when the door to his apartment swings open and he catches a glimpse of sandy hair and green eyes, just visible over the too-large box that’s clearly meant to be moved by two people.

"That’s the last box," Makoto supplies, the words ending with a high, breathy sigh of relief when he sets down the box in the living room and places his hands on the small of his back, stretching and twisting from side to side in fluid motions.  A little voice in Haru’s head wonders if the reason Makoto’s able to do all this moving and lifting without much strain has anything to do with the perfectly rippling muscles composing his back (the aesthetics of which even put some of the pro-backstroke swimmers he’s recently met to shame), but that and the messy emotions tied up in that thought are _really_ not what he needs to be pondering when there’s a perfectly good frying pan in his hand that needs to go on the uppermost shelf.

A shelf, he realizes as he’s standing on tip-toe and can feel the hem of his shirt riding up over his skin, he can’t quite reach.  He hears a breathy laugh emanate from somewhere behind him and glances in its general direction, glare in place.  The laughing stops, but Haru can sense the smile on Makoto’s face, even if he can’t see him at the moment. 

"Need some help, Haru-chan?"  (It’s one of those big smiles, where the corners of Makoto’s eyes crinkle and his mouth is wide and he practically radiates sunshine, Haru just  _knows it.)_

"I’m fine." Haru internally cringes at the petulant bite in his words and curses too tall best friends for being too observant and too helpful and— 

_Far too close_ , his mind supplies with aggressively loud internal alarms, when he feels a hand on his shoulder, gently encouraging him to stop reaching toward the shelf and to settle on his feet, and fingers brushing over his own to grasp the pan’s handle. He vaguely makes out the scent of the deodorant Makoto uses, one he’s come to recognize distinctly as _Makoto,_ one he particularly likes, after years of borrowing clothing and sharing space. The press of Makoto against him sends a jolt of something tingling through his arm, his chest, before grounding itself low in Haru’s stomach and inciting an ache that makes his heart beat fast and his mouth dry.  He turns his head just to see that, yes, his friend’s face is dangerously, enticingly, close to his own, and he can make out the slight sheen of sweat on Makoto’s brow and neck, the way it glistens on his tanned skin.

He should not be this short of breath, should not want to fit his mouth right at the crook of Makoto’s neck or place his lips over the slightly chapped lips that smile so warmly at him, but _he wants to_ , desire practically pulsing under his skin, sending a flush that burns to his cheeks, telling his tongue to wet his own lips because he doesn’t want them to be dry when he kisses Makoto for the first time, because he’s going to, _he has to_ —

"Haru?"  His name sounds so soft when it falls from Makoto’s lips.  He likes the way his name makes Makoto’s mouth form spaces he wants to fill with his own tongue, his breath, and he watches Makoto’s lips say his name again, before he finally realizes Makoto’s _saying his name_  and  \- he’s been caught.  His eyes flick up from the lips he’s been fixating on to curious green, panic replacing want when he realizes how desperate he probably looks when he’s been so careful not to give himself away in the past.  He feels like he’s just belly-flopped into a pool, an unpleasant sharpness smacking against his skin, until the hand at his shoulder slides slowly down over his back before hesitantly settling at his waist, and Haru realizes the curiosity in Makoto’s gaze has shifted to something else, something Haru wants to see more of, and frequently, if he can. Makoto tips his head to the left and he closes his eyes, shielding Haru’s new favorite shade of green from his gaze.

Makoto tastes sweet, a little like the honeydew popsicles they’d tried earlier, and one kiss turns into ten, which turns into twenty, until he stops counting because it’s becoming harder to tell when one starts and the other ends, and Makoto’s calloused fingertips are sliding over the sliver of exposed skin at his hips.  He realizes that Makoto’s holding him with both hands now, and he must have put the frying pan away while Haru was semi-contemplating what the sweat on his skin would taste like, and, oh —

Right. He should be unpacking. Focusing on his kitchen. Pots and pans and what not. 

But, exploring his best friend’s mouth and reveling in how good it feels to be kissing Makoto, to be kissed by Makoto, seems like a good enough reason for a mid-afternoon break. He thinks Makoto – if his mouth wasn’t otherwise preoccupied, littering little sucking kisses on Haru’s neck – would agree.


	2. Sphallolalia (SouRin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sphallolalia - Flirtatious talk that leads no where.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was based on a prompt sent to me on Tumblr from an ask meme floating around. I received a few other prompts after posting the first one and decided to add them to the same fic. The chapters will be stand alone fics rather than a continuing story, but I hope you enjoy each one! 
> 
> Here's some SouRin for you. :)

 

"Hey Sousuke, can I tell you something?"  Rin’s arm is tight around his waist as he clings to him in his drunken stupor.

"Go ahead." Sousuke can feel exactly where his fingertips clench at his shirt, _exactly_ where his thumb rubs over his ribcage and his fingers drag and pull over his skin through the thin blue material.He knows Rin hadn’t intended to go beyond tipsy, but at some point Sousuke had stopped paying attention to the potency and number of drinks Rin had ordered, only to realize - when Rin had nearly tried to strip down to his briefs and get into the fountain near the bar, a move Sousuke had  _absolutely_  no intention of letting Rin develop as a drunk habit - that Rin was drunk.

"You have really nice eyes."  Sousuke just rolls his eyes at that, chastising himself for the fact that he’d opted for attempting to walk an overly affectionate, loud, drunk Rin back to his small, studio apartment in Sydney over hailing a cab, but they were almost there, slowly climbing the stairs without much struggle. “Like fucking  _gorgeous_  eyes.” 

Rin stumbles, cutting off Sousuke’s quickly escalating, slightly panicked thoughts (Rin’s hands really need to stop moving over his chest and ribs and stomach for  _one damn second_ _)_ when his instincts kick in and he tightens his hold on his shoulder while his other hand grabs at Rin’s waist.  

"Rin, watch where you’re—" He expects the hold to be momentary, but Rin’s clutching at his good shoulder now, the fingers at his waist tightening around his shirt to the point where Sousuke’s sure that _just that spot_  is going to be wrinkled from where it fits into Rin’s firm grip, the soft fabric holding the warmth of his hand and molding around it (not unlike himself with Rin, he thinks). 

"Your turn, what do you like about me?" Rin continues, ignoring Sousuke’s comment and edging them toward the cement wall of the stairwell behind him, his red gaze glazed over, breath heavy and warm against Sousuke’s collarbone. 

"I like a lot of things about you."  It’s a diversion, one Rin’s not likely to buy, but it gives him a second more to process _this_ Rin, before his back hits the wall with a light thud.

"What in particular?"

It’s not like this… _dynamic_ is entirely new to them — for months, the tension between them had been beyond that of rivals, the sweetness between them beyond that of friends.  

The teasing isn’t new.

But Rin pushing himself into Sousuke, distracted and focused all at once, crimson eyes burning as he looks over every inch of him before making eye contact once more, certainly is. 

Self-restraint be damned, he can’t deal with Rin hanging all over him, slipping his hands under the fabric of his t-shirt and rubbing circles into his obliques with his thumbs. He groans, unintentionally, and a part of him wants to die for having let it slip out.

He wants this _so badly._

"What do I like?" He releases the hold on Rin’s shoulder, sliding his hand over the exposed skin at his neck and relishing in the gasp of breath he hears Rin inhale, before he slips his thumb over the red of Rin’s lips.

"Your mouth."

Rin’s eyes widen and he looks more sober than he’s been for the entirety of this horrible yet wonderful walk back to his apartment, a pretty flush painting over his skin, down his cheeks, the column of his neck, the exposed skin of his collarbone, to under the neckline of his shirt. Sousuke wants to chase it down the rest of him, see how far the flush goes, but his attention is drawn back to Rin’s lips, where he can feel each short, breathy puff of air against his thumb. The pleasant chills that ripple through Sousuke when Rin places the slightest kiss against the pad of his thumb leave him felling warmer than before, goosebumps he wonders if Rin notices covering his arms. 

“I bet I like your eyes more.” The words are slightly muffled under Sousuke’s touch, but the competitive, childish bite is all there. Sousuke suspects he’d kick him in the shin right now if his legs weren’t unsteady and slotted between his own.

“I doubt it. I think about your mouth a lot, Rin.” He tilts Rin’s chin upwards a bit more, loving the slight groan that escapes Rin’s mouth, warm against his thumb.  He knows where this is supposed to go, where he wants it to go. And damn, does he want to kiss him. ”But…”

"But?"  The repeated word comes with a raised brow and Sousuke could kick himself for what he’s about to say, but…

"I want you to remember the first time we kiss."Rin’s flush deepens and Sousuke claims that small victory for himself, even if he has just jumped head first into the tension that’s been present, with only a vague idea of how to swim. “And I don’t really want it to taste like all those shots you were doing…” 

"Shut up, you drank a few of them, too." Rin pulls back, his hands slipping from beneath Sousuke’s shirt.  Sousuke misses the press of him against him already and wants to pull him back to him, back into him, but the moment is lost, for now.  Rin tucks his hair behind his ear as he takes Sousuke’s hand with the other, wavering slightly on his feet, pulling him up the last final stairs, fumbling with his apartment keys, before turning to face Sousuke once more. "But… tomorrow, right?"

Sousuke’s waited for years, years full of missing, wondering, hoping he’d get the chance to just stand beside Rin again, let alone kiss him. 

His smile grows and he squeezes the hand held tightly in his own; he’s waited this long, he supposes he can wait one more day.  

"Tomorrow."


	3. Apodyopis (MakoHaru)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone.

Sometimes Haru’s mind wanders.  He thinks of swimming and water, of pools and oceans, and particularly of baths. Occasionally, thoughts of mackerel will pop up in the middle of the day, and, rarely, he thinks of times and the diet he’s supposed to be following while training.  

Recently, though, he’s been particularly distracted by thoughts of Makoto.  Not that Haru hasn’t ever been distracted by Makoto before, but it’s become a steadily growing problem since they started dating, especially since they started exploring the, well, “physical perks” of their changing relationship.  

Now, his thoughts are full of sunny smiles that still manage to make him turn his face away in a pitiful attempt to hide the blush on his cheeks, of green eyes gazing at him from amidst his navy blue sheets, of a soothing yet somehow teasing voice saying his name in a way that sounds like how those chocolate covered orange slices they tried once taste. 

Sometimes, for example, he thinks about these things in the middle of grocery shopping, while Makoto’s reading the nutritional value of the box of chocolate-y cereal and trying to convince himself it’s okay to buy it over the healthier option that claims to have 20% more fiber and a lot less sugar. 

“Haru, which one do you want?”  Makoto smiles at him, holding up the two boxes, to which he just shrugs.  He knows Makoto’s simply asking to be courteous – cereal is his breakfast thing, while mackerel is Haru’s – so Haru simply goes back to observing his boyfriend. He’s wearing a black v-neck t-shirt that fits Makoto almost too perfectly (and is too loose on Haru, he knows, since he likes to sleep in it once in a while, surrounded by Makoto), stretched around Makoto’s firm muscles, the pecs and abs that Haru’s probably spent hours tracing his fingers over by now.  His eyes drift to the sliver of tanned skin, namely the start of the v-cut Haru likes to kiss before slipping his mouth around  _other_  things, exposed at the edge of his jeans when he reaches up to the top shelf to set the fibrous cereal back in its place. He _tries_  to censor himself, shifts his sights to Makoto’s back before he goes too far down a dangerous path in the middle of a grocery store, but then he’s just staring at the way his shoulder blades jut out under the shirt’s honestly sinfully tight fit and Haru realizes that he probably needs to relegate this shirt to his collection of “these are no longer Makoto’s, they’re now mine” clothing items because Makoto’s attracting everyone’s attention with his sweet smile and sandy hair and greek-god-esque body.

Makoto says something, setting the chocolate cereal in their basket, and Haru agrees to words he hasn’t listened to, following behind his boyfriend.  All Haru can do is stare at his hips when they pass through the produce section, and think of how good it feels to have his fingers on Makoto’s warm, firm skin, to watch the skin pale under his tight grip before flushing back to its full color when Makoto moves against him, thrusts into him and breathlessly asks “ _Haru, does this feel okay for you?”_ , or " _Do you want me to go faster?_ ", or when he moans out Haru’s name in a voice that Haru has sworn he won’t let anyone else hear for the rest of their lives.  He’s not thinking of Makoto’s thighs beneath the gray-faded jeans he’s wearing when they make it to the fresh fish, or of the way they flex and firm up beneath his fingers, or the way it feels to have them wrapped around him when they switch positions and it’s Haru watching Makoto fall to pieces with each fluid movement of his own hips.

Haru vaguely pays attention when they reach the check out and the girl blushes when Makoto drops his wallet and apologizes for holding up the line, bending down to pick up the fallen item, and Haru wonders what color Makoto’s briefs are under his tight-fitted jeans.  Maybe he’s wearing the emerald green pair that are a little too small in all the right ways, or maybe the fuchsia pair Nagisa bought him that he only wears if he hasn’t had time to do laundry.

 _Maybe_  it’s the light blue pair with fish swimming across his hips and the top of his thighs, the ones that Haru likes to cover in wet, sucking kisses, watching as the fabric tints from the pastel, powder blue to something deeper under his mouth.  He particularly likes the feeling of Makoto’s cock, hard through soft fabric, warm under his mouth as he kisses and licks and sucks from fish to fish. 

"Ready to go home, Haru?" Makoto asks, all smiles and an endearing head tilt, and Haru only feels a little bad when he nods, grabs Makoto's hand, and pulls him along at a speed slightly faster than normal.

He hopes Makoto's wearing the blue ones with fishes. 

When they get to Makoto's apartment, Haru's deeply satisfied to find out that he's right. 


	4. Mamihlapinatapei (Reigisa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.

Nagisa Hazuki loves a lot of things.

He loves pink and the taste of strawberries in any form.   He loves penguins and cute socks with cute characters on them in cute colors.  He loves swimming and the friends he’s made through it.  He loves watching Haru-chan glide through water and the look that crosses his face when Nagisa invades his space.  He loves Mako-chan’s warm smile, and green eyes, and the way he looks at Haruka.  He loves RinRin’s reddish eyes (sort of like his own pink ones) and the fact that he was the first to notice him when they were little.  He loves Gou’s sweetness and her stubbornness; the way she fights him over her name or his unbalanced diet, and still brings him canisters of strawberry protein powder the next day.

But if there is one person he loves more than the rest, more than cute colored socks, even more than strawberry sweets, it is the stunning boy with purple hair who makes his head spin, and stomach flip, and heart flutter. 

He’s enamored with the way Rei slips his glasses up his nose, completely oblivious to the spectacularly dorky way he does it (or, sometimes Nagisa wonders if Rei  _is_  aware of just what a dork he is and it’s all part of some grand aesthetic scheme of his) and how it never fails to make him smile.  He adores Rei’s purple butterfly pajamas and how they make him seem more Rei-ish.  He loves how Rei lights up at the mention of numbers and practically sparkles when Nagisa asks him to explain a physics problem to him as Nagisa scoots close enough to smell the somewhat floral cologne Rei uses, even though they’re in high school and “ _no one in high school even uses cologne yet, Rei-chan_.”

He loves the fact that, when he grabs Rei’s hand and pulls him along through a crowd or to the convenience store, Rei not only lets him hold his hand, but  _holds it back_ , even twines his fingers with his sometimes, and when Nagisa looks back at him, he never misses Rei’s rush to slide his glasses up his nose with his free hand and hide the faint blush on his cheeks. 

He loves the way Rei doesn’t fuss about pulling out the futon when he stays over at Nagisa’s or when Nagisa stays at Rei’s any more.  He loves that Rei simply executes his meticulous nightly routine of flossing, and exfoliating, and moisturizing, before climbing under the covers with a far less primped Nagisa and bidding him “ _goodnight and sweet dreams_.”  Most of all, he loves when he wakes up to find himself curled around Rei, whose breathing suddenly changes patterns, like pretending to be asleep will make Nagisa forget the hand that was gently running through his hair a second ago.  But Nagisa pretends too, and feigns sleep for a few minutes more, relishes the feeling of soft, butterfly-patterned pajamas against his cheek, and breathes in everything Rei.

But out of all of the things Nagisa loves about Rei, he loves the way Rei looks at him the most.

Sometimes when Nagisa says something particularly funny or frustrating, Rei laughs or fumes in contrived annoyance. It’s then when Rei looks at him like he’s the strangest person in the world, but amazing nonetheless - that’s when his head spins.  Sometimes he catches Rei staring when he wasn’t supposed to be, and it’s a look he’s seen Makoto wear when watching Haru swim, one that’s gentle and admiring (that’s when his stomach flips and flops, warm and bubbly but nerve-wracking all at once).  

Sometimes… Sometimes he meets Rei’s gaze in the middle of the most mundane things, like studying together, or waiting on the train, or picking out desserts at the cute cake shop on the way to Rei’s apartment. He wants to say it looks similar to the way couples in those silly dramas Rei secretly likes to watch and critique look at one another, but it’s… different. Nagisa doesn’t know how to explain it because no one has ever looked at him like that before; it’s soft and sweet, but unwavering in a way that makes him wonder exactly who Rei thinks he’s looking at because Nagisa is  _just_  Nagisa, a boy who loves too many things and is too loud for most people and is horribly bad with numbers.

But he thinks he must look at Rei like that sometimes too, because, while Nagisa has met some amazing people in his life, Rei is  _spectacular_. No one has ever fit beside him quite like Rei does: he’s the beautiful, talented, butterfly with lines of theory etched across his wings to Nagisa’s rainbow colored penguin, and  _somehow_ , it makes perfect sense that Nagisa would love Rei and Rei would… love him too, Nagisa thinks.

Those are the looks that make his heart flutter and vulnerable words he’s never said to anyone jump to the tip of his tongue (but never past his lips) before Rei’s looking away, panicked, and erasing the last line of his homework while mumbling something about distractions and “ _really, how could I even write such a poorly structured sentence_ ” while his blushing rivals the color of the strawberries Nagisa loves so much.

One day, Nagisa will tell Rei that, out of all the things and people he loves, he loves Rei most of all. 

He definitely will.  

Just not today.

(But maybe tomorrow would be nice.)


	5. Gargalesthesia (SouRin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gargalesthesia - The sensation caused by tickling.

“Let’s watch a movie,” Rin says, laptop in hand as he drops upon the bed, the feathertop  _floofing_  and sinking under him as he sprawls across the comforter.    It’s a Friday night; Sousuke’s been studying for almost five hours and Rin’s restless and, admittedly (endearingly, in his own opinion), needy for attention. Sousuke eyes him from his spot at his desk and glances between Rin’s very intentional pout and his Human Anatomy textbook (he’d decided to study sports medicine abroad, in Australia,  _with Rin_ , after a year of long distance and a relationship composed of soundbites and glitchy images).

He closes the Human Anatomy textbook, abandons his only slightly messy desk (Rin adamantly insists that he won’t clean up after Sousuke, but  _somehow_  finds himself stacking Sousuke’s cluttered papers into neat piles, arranging scattered highlighters into a rainbow-ordered rectangle, and tucking the stapler neatly beside the desk lamp after every particularly rough test, the small smile that always appears on Sousuke’s face, no matter how exhausted he may be, too sweet a reward), and crawls beside his boyfriend. 

“What do you want to watch?” 

Rin  _hmms_  in response, flicking through one Netflix recommendation after another as Sousuke props himself on his elbow and opts for watching the way Rin bites his lip in thought before rejecting another B-rated movie, the wisps of red hair just short enough to fall loose of his messy braid, the jut of his shoulder blades and lean muscles exposed by the racer back he tends to laze about in. Or, that’s what Rin  _assumes_  he’s watching, since something about the way he’s being watched makes his heart beat a little faster and his skin tingle, before a warm hand is suddenly on his back. 

Sousuke favors feather light touches, particularly over areas of Rin he knows to be too sensitive for such soft swipes, skin so quick to break out in goosebumps when Sousuke slips his hands beneath Rin’s shirt, fingers drifting over his ribcage and the curve of his waist in a way that makes a warm, curling, fluttering feeling settle in Rin’s stomach and seep into his limbs.  It’s just the attention he was seeking and Rin’s almost ready to abandon the racing movie he’s just started (because he wants more of this feeling, wants Sousuke to focus  _only_  on him and not some silly film, wants to show Sousuke attention in return) when - 

Sousuke  _betray_ s him, curls his fingers against the dip in his waist before flicking quickly over his skin. Rin’s stomach drops in rush, skin suddenly hypersensitive to inescapable hands, instantaneously breathless, because Sousuke’s _tickling him, that bastard._

Rin can’t even stop the loud sound he makes, one that’s more of a yelping gasp than an laugh, before both of Sousuke’s hands are under his shirt, and Rin’s struggling to get away from his grip, his entire body telling him to  _stop_ whatever is forcing him to make such an embarrassing sound, before it settles into a full laugh peppered with pleadings for Sousuke to stop.

“Sousuke, stop, you’re such a - fuck, STOP IT - such an ass,” Rin manages get out between gasps, eyes clenched shut tight, all bite to his words lost in his laugh and the traitorous smile on his own face. Sousuke hums to himself, a feigned contemplation of pausing, but his hands keep moving over his skin.  Rin tries to turn over, ends up dragging Sousuke on top of him when Sousuke refuses to let go, and he has half-given up to the bursting, curling,  _too strong_ sensation rushing through him, half-debating if he can launch Sousuke off of the bed if he kicks up hard enough, when Sousuke’s hands still. 

Rin opens his eyes just in time to catch the teal of Sousuke’s before they close, catches one quick breath before their lips meet. It’s not the burn of touches meant to lead to more, or the overwhelming fluttering, dropping, rushing of tickling; kissing Sousuke like this slips over his skin, wraps around him, fills him with something entirely content, tells him how much he’s loved. 

There’s a moment that follows, when Sousuke’s lips have left Rin’s and all they can do is stare at the slightly dazed, slightly goofy glow in each other’s eyes and painted in a flushed pink across their faces. 

“Still think I’m an ass?”  The hands beneath Rin’s shirt move slowly now, sweetly, and Sousuke’s weight is a heavy, pleasurable press against him. 

“Hmm…” Rin reaches up and threads his fingers through Sousuke’s hair, watches Sousuke leans into his touch, then closer into Rin’s space until his lips linger just above Rin’s, close enough for Rin to practically feel Sousuke’s mouth against his when he whispers, “Yep.” 

(If Sousuke has a problem with that, the next kiss on Rin’s lips - slow and burning and everything tempting -  says otherwise.)

**Author's Note:**

> come sob over perfect tokyo makoharu with at me http://ishouldbeanimated.tumblr.com/


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